


Go Down On Me

by theplaidchesters



Series: Scarves, Strip Poles and Coffee [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - Human, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 22:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplaidchesters/pseuds/theplaidchesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you ever just look at someone and think “I’d go down on you, I’d go down on you so hard”? Well, Castiel thought so too when he saw Dean Winchester waltz into the coffee shop, but he certainly didn't think he'd have his wishes come true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Down On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Each part of the Scarves, Strip Poles and Coffee series doesn't have a space/time continuity. Each part is different from the other. The series involve coffee shops, diners and bakeries. There might be fluff in it, and also a lot of porn. Yay.

It was honestly the worst day ever. People kept walking through the glass doors and the goddamned hinges kept making those unnerving sounds; the orders barely changed at all —vanilla chai frappes, medium drips, cappuccinos —and Castiel could swear he’d listened ‘Who you love’ at least three times by now. Sirius XM needed to get their shit straight.

“If I listen to Phillip Phillips one more time, I’m honest to god gonna throw this blender at the sound system.” Castiel emphasized the sentence by handling said object in front of him.

Anna looked at him from the cash register. “Only in your wildest dreams. You wouldn’t do that to Naomi.”

“That’s true. She’s been good to me.” Castiel thought of all the times she had been reasonable when it came to Castiel’s studies —she gave him less hours but kept him on weekends’ night shifts, which were the busiest. “It’d be cooler if people actually left any tips, I mean… we only get the spoiled brats.”

Balthazar let out a dramatic sigh while making a three-cheese _panini_. “Spending the money their parents earned by working their asses off in frappes and light Marlboros… kids these days.”

In fact, most of the clients were in their early twenties or less —skinny teenagers with terrible manners asking for a low-carb beverage, and boys walking inside the café in packs, gathering around Anna and ordering strawberry Italian sodas. Cherry too, if the kids felt bold enough.

“To go,” the leader said, winking at Anna.

Later, when they were gone, Anna mocked them. “Italian sodas,” she said, shuddering at the leering of the fifteen-year-old kid pack. “How very manly of them.”

Castiel finished the sodas and delivered them to the customers, not before noticing how shiny were the braces of the kid that winked at Anna. “You could stop carrying around that big-ass mirror you have,” he said to her, and she hit him.

 

“I’m still mad at you but it’s my duty to inform you that two hotties are going to walk through those doors in five, four, three, two…”

The hinges squeaked again and all of a sudden, two gorgeous men walked inside the café, looking around with a curious face. One was taller than the other—he had more muscle and longer hair, but his face seemed somewhat younger. Castiel noticed a childish gleam in his eyes.

However, he only had eyes for the shorter.

Man, the shorter.

_Bend me over the table, have your way with me, just—_

Balthazar nudged at his side. “Close your mouth, dear. Flies might get in the way.”

“Shut up,” Castiel said, but retreated to the kitchen, nonetheless. Neutral zone.

“Do you have green tea?” one of the two men asked. Then Anna was all about the different teas the café had to offer, the benefits and how could they be served. “I’ll have a Jasmine Chun-Hao then. Hot. No sugar. What about you?”

Suddenly, Castiel wanted to go out and discover which of the brothers was the one talking—just to memorize the man and the voice to have a little session in his own bathroom. So he did. Castiel ventured outside and leaned against the counter, saw the shorter man frowning at the menu with his lower lip between his teeth and goddamn, he looked so fucking hot. The taller one was looking at him expectantly.

Then, he said: “Jesus Dean, just pick a tea”, and Castiel thanked the Time Lords for the blessing. He had a name, and the solo session Castiel was going to have later would be far more interesting and real.

“’Don’t wanna drink tea.” _Dean_ put back the menu and smiled charmingly. “I’ll have a black coffee. If you could add an extra shot or two, it’d be fantastic.”

So the shorter man had a fantastic, raspy voice that’d sound incredibly awesome in bed. Castiel bit back a whimper. Then the two men started arguing about the bill and whose turn was it to pay; they could be lovers, by the proximity they maintained, but Castiel dismissed the idea after witnessing the tall man watching a girl’s ass when she passed by. 

Once Castiel was done with the order, he didn’t trust himself in taking the double-glass cup filled up with steaming tea and the little plate with the gigantic porcelain mug to the incredibly-hot guys (it might fall, and it’d be embarrassing) so he asked Balthazar for help.

Balthazar came back, delighted. “Boy, for being so chicken-shit, you missed out the two most beautiful faces on Earth. I owe you one.”

“I saw both faces up close,” said Anna, rather smugly. “They were delicious.”

“I don’t care much about Sasquatch. The shorter one, however…” Castiel whined, turning his back to the main door. He leaned against the counter and let out a semi-pornographic sigh, eyes closed. “I’d go down on him… I’d go down on him so fucking hard.”

He heard Anna cough, but Castiel kept going. “Did you see his lips? They were so plump and red… and his eyes… god, I don’t—“

“Castiel.” Anna cut his revelry with a very sharp grunt. It was rare to be called _Castiel_ by her, but what caught his attention was the warning tone in the menacing whisper. He saw her friend looking at something past his shoulder, and she looked rather nervous and alarmed.

Was it a client? Was it his boss?

Was it—?

Castiel’s eyes widened—he didn’t dare to move a muscle; Anna nodded very slowly and all Castiel could think of was: _holy shit, you have to be kidding me, holy shit, oh god, just fuck me with a knife_. He ventured a glance, just a quick one: saw the hotter dude staring at him in shock and amusement (at least it wasn’t in horror and disgust) with a handful of napkins before Castiel ducked down like the amazing coward he was. Also, it was a very ridiculous move. Pathetic, even. He waited, eyes shut closed.

The hot man spoke, all calmness and good-manners, no trace of the previous surprise in his voice. “Excuse me, ma’am, what time do you close?”

“It depends, actually,” Anna said, giggling nervously. “The official close-time is eleven, but it could be earlier or later—depends on the people.”

“And… are you _all_ gonna be here by that time?”

Castiel almost left his hideaway and yelped. Almost. It was a close call.

“Yes, of course—he’s gonna be… I mean, we all… yes.”

Castiel rested his face on his knees. Damn Anna. Damn him.

“Good, thank you.” Then, his voice was so much closer and Castiel had the horrible sensation the hotter dude had just leaned forward and saw him ducked there, swimming in his own misery. The fucker knew how to make a guy nervous. He spoke: “I’ll see you later,” and left.

“That was intense,” said Anna, kneeling beside Castiel. “I swear I could see his eyes burning, like—“

“The fucking hinges didn’t creak! Why didn’t they creak? They always fucking creak!” Castiel was panting, as if he was about to have a heart attack.

Anna tried to hide her laugh but failed. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad. Thank the gods he didn’t punch you.”

“Don’t say anything. Just leave me here to die.”

Balthazar laughed. “Boy, you’re in trouble. You should’ve seen him. There’s no way you’re gonna make it alive.”

“Jesus.”

 

* * *

 

The night fell quicker than expected and Dean checked his watch one more time before glancing at the insides of the little café; they decided they’d sit in the terrace since the weather was nice enough and not too icy. The place was practically desert: there were only two or three occupied chairs left, and they were all in the terrace, but the top floor was empty. Even though he wanted to spend some time together with his little brother, all he could think of was _him_ —the shy guy with the filthy mouth and apparently, a great expertise on making coffee, frappes and teas, all at the same time. Skillful hands… that was interesting.

“You’re not even listening to me.”

Dean didn’t tear his eyes away from the guy. “I bet it had something to do with Ruby.”

Sam gave him his signature bitch-face. “I was just telling you that I broke up with her.”

“Good, she was a bitch.”

Sam’s complaints were drown by the sight of something miraculous: the guy climbing up the stairs, going to the _empty_ top floor, a clipboard in hand and a bored expression plastered on his face. The top floor was empty. There was no one inside. And he had said he’d go down on him. So fucking hard. That’s what he had said.

Last thing he heard was Sam’s protest, but he walked through the glass doors and winked at the redheaded girl before climbing up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

“It’s almost close-time, Cas. We need to get this inventory done.”

“But why me?” Castiel whined.

Anna thrust the clipboard into his chest. “I need to start counting the money and Balthazar is washing the dishes. Now, go.”

So, there he was, climbing up the stairs feeling extremely bored and upset —he’d been watching the hot dudes the entire night, and the last thing he wanted was to go upstairs and miss the moment they leave. _One, two, three bags of carton cups_. Castiel heard the door hinges squeak and let out a heavy sigh. Just what he needed: another insensible client that’d probably want his order to be ready in two minutes, even though the café was one-second away to close-time. _A whole box of luxury napkins—that meant there were nine packages in there_. There was a sudden creak coming from the stairs. Jesus, now he had to interrupt the inventory because of that impertinent asshole. Castiel quickly scanned the insides of the closet, trying to memorize the contents: four rolls of toilet paper, frappe containers, and some bottles of liquid soap. He counted two bottles before hearing the voice behind him, startling the shit out of him and making him drop the clipboard.

“Why so alone?”

 _Fuck._ Castiel turned around right after screeching like a little girl, and met the man, the short man, the hotter dude, the one with the raspy voice and delicious face. _Dean_. He was standing in his personal space, watching him from above (he was taller than Castiel and that made him one hundred times hotter) with a smirk on his lips.

Castiel lowered his eyes, fixating them on the clipboard resting on the floor. “I… I’m counting.”

Dean hummed. “Sounds like fun.”

“Yeah, um—the men’s bathroom’s here,” Castiel mumbled, and stepped aside. “We’re shutting the lights off in a few minutes, so you better hurry.”

“I didn’t come up here to use to the bathroom,” Dean said, smirk growing even wider and taking a step forward. Castiel saw the man’s boots barely touch his own shoes—a pair of ragged Converse with different shoelaces. It was embarrassing. He felt his breathing quicken, felt the blood pumping in his veins. Dean was too close and he could smell the breeze from outside, a slight cigarette-smoke hint and the scent of black, no-sugared coffee. _Mint_. Castiel could also smell mint on him.

“Oh.” The clipboard was still on the floor. Castiel absently remembered he still had to count the bags of plastic containers, so he crouched to pick up the inventory; he thought to himself it was only going to take a second to recover the goddamn thing from the floor, it was going to be a harmless action, no one was going to get hurt…

Lights went out. The top floor’s light went out first because that was the café’s announcement to the people that they were closed for the night. Castiel froze in place, practically kneeled in front of Dean, submerged in a profound darkness. He wanted to _cry_.

“Oh, my god,” he said, more like in a strangled whimper that sounded lame but still somewhat erotic. “This can’t be happening.”

He heard Dean groan. “You said something earlier… something about you wanting to go somewhere on me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel pleaded, still crouched. “I didn’t mean—“

“Look at me,” Dean instructed, and Castiel complied. He stared right at him, even though shadows darkened pretty much his entire face. “I want you to. I want to think you actually meant those words because, god, you made me so fucking horny and I need your lips around my dick like right now.”

Castiel licked his lips. He started having trouble breathing, but for all the thirteen doctors, he wanted this so bad. So he nodded, he nodded and placed both knees on the floor, swallowing down his cowardice and fear.

Dean unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the zipper down, but he left Castiel to do the rest, which he did very gladly: with trembling fingers, he managed to grasp the hem of Dean’s jeans and underwear, and pulled both pieces of clothing down. The engorged member jumped freely, and Dean let out a quivering sigh.

“You’re already leaking,” said Castiel, stunned at the sight: lengthy, thick, and slightly curved, the magnificent cock was seeping pre-cum rather profusely. Castiel took that as a compliment.

Dean let out a shaky laugh. “I know. You’re kind of killing me down there.”

“I haven’t done a thing.”

“Start sucking and we’ll discuss it later.”

Tentatively, Castiel hovered his mouth above the tip, exhaling warm puffs of air; he felt Dean’s body tremble so he continued teasing the head, just to make it expel more liquid. Heard Dean muttering a curse, noticed his hands curling up into fists, placing them on the wooden door. Castiel stuck out his tongue, made a gentle circle across the head with it, tasted the salty tang of his lubrication. _I need your lips around my dick like right now_ , Dean had said, so Castiel complied—he sucked a little, hollowing his cheeks, pulled back until it was nearly out of his mouth, and then sunk back again.

Dean let out a choked gasp. “Shit, like _that_.”

Feeling a little bit bolder, Castiel took a grasp of Dean’s cheeks (he had this incredible perky, toned ass) and squeezed hard. He dug his fingertips on the flesh, scratching the skin just a little. The man hissed but did not complain; instead, he thrust forward, meeting Castiel’s movements.

Castiel sunk down and engulfed almost the entire length of Dean’s cock. It was thick and heavy in his mouth, but he kept it there, moaning around it and feeling the spit dripping on his chin. “Holy shit, just— _fuck_.” Dean grabbed the back of Castiel’s head and pushed just one inch forward; he fought back the gag reflex and relaxed his throat, letting Dean’s cock deepen even further.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Dean said in a wrecked voice. “Keep looking at me.”

Castiel did as he was told. He pulled back just long enough to play with the head, sucking at it while he teased his balls. There was a loud thump when Dean let his head fall backwards, and there was another one when he banged at the door with his fist. “God, _fuck. me_. Take it, just take it.”

The music went louder, someone changed the station to something that sounded like a Skrillex remix but it was loud enough to drown Dean’s heavy pants and moaning. Castiel made a fist around his cock and sucked _hard_ , the other hand squeezing Dean’s right ass-cheek. He never tore his eyes away from Dean, even though he had his eyelids shut closed, mouth parted with the tip of his tongue darting across his lips.

Castiel grabbed his ass with both hands as Dean cupped his face, urging him to go deeper. His thrusts became erratic and the panting only got louder as Castiel complied and sunk forward, brushing the underside of Dean’s cock with his tongue. His eyes snap open, dark and desperate. “Like that, like that, Jesus, keep— _shit_.”

With the rush of heat flooding in his veins, Castiel did something incredibly bold but also very stupid: he parted Dean’s cheeks, and let one of his fingers stroke oh so slightly the puckered skin.

“ _Fuck!_ ” That was it. Dean plunged his dick down Castiel’s throat one last time before coming with a hoarse shout. It was a long, long orgasm, and Castiel waited with his mouth around Dean’s cock until it was over. He swallowed 'til there was nothing left, and tried not to smirk too much when he noticed Dean’s trembling legs and sweaty skin.

 

 

When Castiel stood up, wiping his mouth and squeezing his own throbbing cock, he found Dean slumped against the closet door, with his jeans still down and his dick already softening. He had this blissful smile on his lips, but it didn’t last long, as he started pulling up his underwear and combing his hair with his fingers.

Then, he said the thing.

“You better go back to your inventory.”

It was like a quadruple-slap to Castiel’s dignity. “What?”

“It’s close-time, kiddo, you said it yourself.”

“But I want you to…” _Return the favor!_ , Castiel wanted to say, but he didn’t. “I want you to stay.”

Shit, that sounded even more pathetic, and by the look on Dean’s face, Castiel knew that it was.

Dean walked towards the stairs. “My brother’s waiting for me. I was supposed to spend some time with him, not getting a BJ in a café’s supplies closet.”

“You asked for it,” Castiel retorted, feeling his cheeks redden.

“Well, baby, you suggested it.”

Yeah, Castiel wasn’t gonna get any tonight. “Fine,” he said, defeated. “Do as you please.”

Turning around, Dean walked back to Castiel, grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pulled him in a quick, soft kiss. It was indeed a disappointingly quick kiss. It lasted no more than two seconds. Castiel didn’t even have the time to savor it.

“Hey,” Dean said, pressing their foreheads together. “At least I know where you work.”

And then he was gone, leaving Castiel with a raging boner and a half-done inventory, and with the horrible sensation he’d never see Dean again.

 

* * *

 

Sam was nowhere to be seen in the terrace, so Dean walked to the parking lot and found his young brother leaned against the car, sipping from his carton cup.

“Ready to go?”

“What happened with the guy?” Sam asked, opening the door. “Didn’t you guys get along?”

The last thing Dean wanted was to remember the doe-eyed barista and his skillful mouth. “We did. But everything ends, and our brief but nonetheless passionate romance had to be postponed.”

“And why is that?”

Dean didn’t have an answer, so he shrugged. “Shit happens. Told him I was going to come back, though.”

“You liked him.” It wasn’t a question or an accusation. Sam said those words like it was a statement.

“I guess.”

Sam shot him a questioning look. “And are you? Are you coming back?” At Dean’s silence, Sam added: “Don’t be an asshole.”

“I barely know him.”

“And yet, you let him give you a blowjob. Apparently, not-knowing him isn’t an excuse.”

Dean looked and found his zipper down. “I don’t know, Sam, I’ll try to come back next week.”

He pretended he didn’t see Sam’s head shaking in disappointment, and started up the car.

**Author's Note:**

> The Scarves, Strip Poles and Coffee series began a year ago, when I started working at this coffee shop/tea house. Since then, I've had this compulsion to write everything I live there, and of course, there are a few stories that needed to be put into Destiel context. I thank Tumblr user theamityughffliction for making me use his text post as a prompt, and my friend Itza for always reading my unfinished ideas.


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